


Against Company Policy

by ReverseMousetrap



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Drunk Sex, Established Relationship, M/M, Office Party, PWP, Present Tense, gayperion, misuse of company property, smut and humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 15:23:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14751423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReverseMousetrap/pseuds/ReverseMousetrap
Summary: It's not a real Hyperion Christmas party until Rhys does something stupid.





	Against Company Policy

**Author's Note:**

> Me: Do they have Christmas in the Borderlands 'verse?  
> Me: Ah, who cares. This is literally just smut. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Rhys is good at many things. Dancing isn’t one of them.

When his attempts to drag Vaughn onto the floor fail, he pouts and goes off in search of someone more adventurous, accidentally elbowing several people as he prances away into the crowd. Vaughn’s perfectly happy where he is, leaning against the wall and working his way through a third glass of very expensive company-sponsored wine. People ignore him and he ignores them right back.

He finds the whole affair grimly fascinating, which is at least a step up from how depressing he’d found parties before Rhys. The whole place is overflowing with hormones, both the fighting kind and the fucking kind, and some of the executives look like they can’t tell the difference. Vaughn just watches like it’s a nature documentary, perfectly relaxed as he savours the impossibly smooth taste of his drink. He feels good, warm. He pulls off his bow tie and shoves it in his pocket.

He doesn’t quite notice that Rhys has reappeared until he feels a hand slipping around his waist. He turns to protest – Rhys never touches him below the shoulder at work – but then the other man’s mouth is on his, tasting of vodka and cranberry juice, and whatever he was going to say just evaporates completely.

“Y’know, you look really good tonight,” Rhys says quietly, lips right under Vaughn’s ear, and despite the noise it’s the only thing he can hear.

He shivers. “Y – yeah?”

“I like you in black. And your shirt’s all tight...”

Metal fingers are tracing down his chest and recently-solid abs as Rhys leans in to kiss along his jawline, and Vaughn almost chokes on the last sip of his drink.

“Uh, we should probably take this somewhere more private,” he says nervously. He can practically feel the envious looks from everyone around them. “Like...home?”

“But I’m having fun _here_ ,” whines Rhys. His hands are really getting too low. Sober Vaughn would have stopped him several inches ago. Three Drink Vaughn is a little smug at being chosen in front of everyone, and more than a little turned on. All the same, he wants to have a job when he comes in next week.

“Not in front of everyone,” he says firmly, and he’s amazed by how convincing he sounds.

Rhys huffs a little but eases off, slipping his hand into Vaughn’s and pulling him along the edge of the room. The DJ has picked up the pace and the onlookers soon lose interest in the two men stumbling past them towards the exit.

Vaughn looks up at the glowing signs around them and wrinkles his nose.

“Dude, I’m not making out with you in the _restroom_. Gross.”

A look of annoyance passes over Rhys’ face followed by intense concentration as he sways on his feet. At last his ECHO-Eye flashes to life and he grins. “I know just the place.”

Vaughn follows him to who-knows-where, practically jogging to keep up with Rhys’ long strides. They’re evidently taking the long way. He hopes they look casual, just two employees heading back to their desks for some overtime.

While holding hands. Right.

They come to a very important-looking door in a deserted corridor, and Rhys pulls up one of his mysterious software routines.

“I’m…guessing this isn’t a broom closet?”

“Nope. Only the best for you, bro.”

There’s a look on his face that amuses and worries Vaughn in equal measure – and his worst fears are confirmed when the door slides open and the lights come on to reveal an executive lounge, packed with the kind of furniture that costs more than his annual salary.

“Are you serious? We can’t go in there!”

“Sure we can. We’re _future_ executives.”

“Rhys, we are gonna be in so much trouble if –”

“I’ll protect you,” he says with a wink, before tugging Vaughn inside by the fingertips and locking the door behind them. There’s barely any time to look around before Rhys grabs him and wrestles him down onto the nearest oversized sofa, climbing on top and kissing him hungrily.

Vaughn takes a moment to consider the fact that Rhys is a _really fucking good_ kisser, and another less pleasant moment to wonder where he learned it – but then he’s distracted by the hand tugging at his shirt collar, the teeth pulling lazily at his lower lip. His sharp intake of breath elicits a low laugh from Rhys, who moves to attack his throat without mercy; the sudden heat on his neck has him instinctively clinging to the other man, mouth falling open in a silent moan. He can feel Rhys’ erection pressing against his thigh, and his own cock is starting to respond in kind, his whole body electrified.

“Now we match,” purrs Rhys, leaning back slightly to admire his handiwork.       

“You’re crazy,” he gasps. “People are gonna see!”

Rhys traces a finger over the darkening hickey, careful not to press too hard. “I want everyone to know you’re mine,” he says fiercely.

Vaughn isn’t sure who the competition is supposed to be, but it’s a flattering sentiment, and besides he’s much more interested in the fact that Rhys has gone back to unbuttoning his shirt, leaving a trail of slow open-mouthed kisses down his exposed chest. His head is spinning and his blood is hot, and he’s so lost in the moment that it takes him several seconds to realise that Rhys is fumbling with his belt buckle.

“Dude, how drunk _are_ you?” Vaughn sits up a few inches, feeling dizzy.

“It’s Christmas,” says Rhys by way of explanation, tugging at the zipper of Vaughn’s fly. “And you’re hot.”

“If we get caught, we’ll lose our goddamn jobs.” It’s difficult to sound authoritative when Rhys is gripping his cock through his underwear, thumb drawing circles around the wet spot at the head.

“Then we’ll just have to not get caught.” There’s that look in his eyes again for just a moment, accompanied by a lecherous grin, and then it turns to genuine concern. “Or, uh, if you’re not comfortable, then –”

“Let’s go with not getting caught,” Vaughn manages to choke out before he has to bite down hard on his knuckles. Rhys’ mouth always gets them in trouble one way or another, but by God he knows how to use it, and the moment his tongue makes contact with bare skin Vaughn thinks _fuck it, Anshin’s probably hiring anyway_.

As the sweet warmth surrounds the tip of his cock, he reaches down to stroke Rhys’ cheek in gratitude, but Rhys grabs his wrists and pins them to the leather seat.

“Uh-uh,” he says with his mouth full, gazing up at Vaughn with wicked eyes as he takes him deeper. It’s all he can do not to thrust up into that hot, perfect mouth, but if Rhys wants him to hold still, he will. His hands curl into fists, and he has to look away if he’s going to keep it together, because the way those lips drag back along his length is almost too much. Rhys is moving _so_ slowly, a little further each time, teasing with his tongue as he goes, and Vaughn knows he’s moaning too loud but it’s difficult to care.

Just when he thinks it’s as much as Rhys can take, the other man shifts and Vaughn feels his cock slide all the way until it just touches the back of his throat. It’s only for a second, but it’s enough to make him shudder.

“Holy shit,” he breathes.

Rhys has to let go for a moment, coughing and wiping his mouth with the back of his left hand; Vaughn takes the other and gives it a gentle squeeze.

“You’ve made your point,” he says half-jokingly, which gets a giggle.

“I’ll have to practise.”

Just thinking about it is enough to make his cock twitch. Rhys takes that as his cue to go back to sucking him off.

Rhys must be getting off on it somehow, he thinks; it’s the only way to explain the combination of deadly precision and wild enthusiasm he devotes to the act. He knows every inch of Vaughn by heart, knows exactly how to make him beg for more – which he’s so close to doing now, with the heat building inside him and Rhys just fucking _teasing_ him, bringing him close only to hold back each time. He wants everything. He wants Rhys.

“Please,” says Vaughn, low and desperate, lost in it all.

“Hmm?”

“Please, just – just do it.” He hopes to hell Rhys doesn’t make him ask again. There are words he’s still not used to saying out loud.

Maybe it’s mercy or maybe it’s the Christmas spirit, but Rhys just closes his eyes and gives Vaughn his undivided, loving attention, metal hand splayed across his abs to hold him down.

Vaughn knows he can’t hold out much longer when his legs start to shake; he can’t form words any more, just quiet, half-syllable whimpers of pure need – and then a hoarse shout as he finally comes, his cock buried deep in Rhys’ mouth. For a few seconds his mind is a blissful blank, and the only thing he knows is the tongue sliding gently along his length, guiding him through, taking everything he has to give.

He tips his head back, his whole body relaxing, and Rhys is slowly kissing his way back up his chest. Vaughn doesn’t have to look to know that he’s wearing that satisfied smirk. It’s okay, though; he’s earned it. He wraps his arms around Rhys’ shoulders as their lips meet with surprising tenderness, fascinated by the way he can still taste himself.

“Thank you,” is all he can say.

“You’re welcome,” Rhys murmurs. His hair has fallen out of its perfect arrangement, leaving him looking sleepy and vulnerable. Vaughn feels privileged to see him like this, the real man behind the corporate bravado; somehow it means more than all the illicit workplace sex in the world.

Well, maybe.

“What now?” he asks, reaching down to give Rhys’ ass a squeeze. “What do _you_ want?”

His mismatched eyes glimmer with mischief and he’s about to open his mouth, when both of them suddenly freeze at the sound of the security scanner activating.

“Oh, sh –”

Rhys claps a hand over Vaughn’s mouth, ECHO-Eye whirring frantically, and he whispers “Pants on and trust me,” before vaulting over the back of the couch.

Dazed and afraid, Vaughn somehow manages to shove himself back into his clothes without any injuries just as the door slides open and nobody other than _goddamn Hugo Vasquez_ slithers into the room, followed by…

 _Oh God._ Anita Cargill, his actual, literal boss, who’s carrying her high heels in one hand and a half-empty bottle of something very expensive in the other.

“Hello,” he says weakly, realising his shirt is still open. Internally, he unleashes a string of curses at Rhys, the stupid pretty traitorous bastard.

“Well, Shaun, this is unexpected,” she replies, one plucked eyebrow raised as she considers the view. Vasquez wraps an arm around her waist, glaring daggers at him. The woman barely notices, taking another slug of her drink.

“Hey, don’t I know you?” he booms.

“Nope, don’t think so.” Vaughn is buttoning up his shirt as fast as he can; by the third one he realises the sides aren't lined up right but he’s really not comfortable letting anyone else get another glimpse of his body. “I’ll just be going –”

“Well, hey there, _Hugo_ ,” says Rhys as he re-emerges from behind the couch, spitting the name politely. “You found someone to let you in.”

He’s leaning awkwardly on the back of the seat, and it takes Vaughn a moment to realise he’s crouching to hide his very obvious boner. He would laugh if not for the fact that he wants to disappear.

Vasquez is only just keeping his cool. It’s terrifying. “Care to explain, _Rhys?_ ”

“My friend isn’t feeling well. I brought him here to get away from the noise.” Rhys sounds calm; Vaughn tries to look extra-pathetic, which isn’t difficult. He can already picture himself stepping out of the airlock with a cardboard box of his most prized possessions.

“I know for a fact that you don’t have clearance to be here,” says Vasquez, eyes narrowed.

Rhys pretends not to hear. “Oh! And it is just so lovely to see you, _Mrs._ Cargill _.”_

His eyes fly to the woman’s left hand, where she indeed sports an enormous diamond ring. He doesn’t know how he hasn’t noticed it before, but then again he’s never quite thought of his boss as a human with a life.

Vasquez and Rhys seem to be fighting a war with just their eyes, so he quietly finishes buttoning up his shirt and eases off the couch, hoping he’s invisible. His boyfriend is there beside him, pretending to support his weight while hiding the incriminating evidence.

“We’ll be out of your way now,” Rhys says smoothly as they head for the exit.

“Good,” Vasquez replies through gritted teeth. Cargill just hiccups, visibly bored.

As soon as the door closes behind them, Vaughn collapses against the wall, too relieved to even laugh. He pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head.

“That was too close, bro. You have to stop talking me into these things.”

Rhys pulls him in for a quick kiss in the deserted hallway. “Everything turned out fiiine,” he wheedles.

“Yeah, I guess. I owe you one.” He smiles weakly.

“Actually,” says Rhys, pressing up against him, “I think you owe me two.”


End file.
